Bones
by SecondTry
Summary: Laeta's thought's after Spartacus spares her life. Pairing: Spartacus/Laeta.
1. Chapter 1

**I have no idea where I'm going with this. It just refused to leave me until I wrote it. **

**Laeta:**

_Why does he continue to let me live? His every action confounds me._

Even as Laeta questioned Spartacus' actions she was eternally grateful for her life. It was the reason behind the sparing of it, that drove her to madness as she was unsure of intent. _He speaks of not wanting to be as the very people who enslaved him. He thinks himself above us. And I cannot deny its truth when compared to men like Laurus. _Her own thoughts kept leading her in circles and it made her of a mind to scream the heavens down. The addition of her, and her small group of people, imprisonment in **_his_** own villa, created more confusion. It allowed for closer quarters to the man driving her to distraction. It also served to remind her of the things she had lost since the taken of the city as the villa that Spartacus now called his own, had once been her dear husband's. The very idea of his claiming ownership over it was laughable, but she could not dispute that the villa that she had called home was now a place of war and blood; forever tainted by a gladiator who continued to surprise her at every turn. Spartacus was not who she expected. The stories - the legends - made him out as a God among men, but as far as Laeta could discern he stood far removed from the tales. He thought himself a man of honour, a man as different from the Roman men and women, as the sun was from the moon.

_How I long for the conviction to deny his cause._ Even as Laeta treated Spartacus as the slave he once was, speaking down to him as if he were nothing, a voice in the back of her head whispered conflicting thoughts. She was not of the mind to treat slaves as such, but when Spartacus was within sight, emotions overrode her tongue. Her quite nature became a fierce tornado in the face of his blank features and she found herself goading him into anger despite her inherit fear of what he could still do to her. She but wanted to witness the truth of the man, as beasts only showed their true face when confronted. As she was unable to do this with sword in hand, her words had become the instrument with which she sought to cause him suffering. Suffering which was most deservet of the man who had killed her husband. Yet, he still had not taken her life.

Something she found to be quite...disconcerting.

Laeta had defied Spartacus, betrayed the trust he had put in her. She was troubled by the feelings, the expression upon his face at the discovery of her misdeed, had caused to stir within her breast. She had almost been ashamed of her actions, even as she knew with certainty that she would do the same thing again if given the chance. No, she did not regret what she had done. She had but tried to save a handful of people, as she had put it to Spartacus. She also could not deny that some small part of her that thought that Spartacus's war justified. _Do I not want to be free now that it has been snatched away from me? Have I not rebelled against the people who have enslaved me?_ Although, she still had pertained the privilege of free movement within the city under Spartacus' command, she had been given more than most slaves ever achieved. _Now here I sit at the mercy of men who wish to see me and my people dead._

Laeta had once said, show an animal kindness and it will give you loyalty until the heavens fall; show it nothing but the lash and wonder why it bares teeth. Was that not what Spartacus and his men were doing? Baring their teeth at the very people who had treated them so poorly. Was she not one of those such people before the rebels invaded the city? Had she not commanded slaves to exact her bidding? She had never been unkind to her slaves, nor had she had them beaten, but she had never thought of them as anything other than what they were. She had never wondered if they had desires or aspirations, wants and needs. They just were. But Spartacus was more than a slave, he was more then a God. He was the symbol the repressed held to example. His was the name that slaves spoke at nighttime to comfort themselves. She could not turn blind eye to the suffering she herself had witnessed at the hands of her fellow Romans; the stoning of the man being prime example. _He too had witnessed it and put an end to the man's suffering in the only way he could_.

It was not for lack of trying, but Laeta found it hard to truly hate the man. She waited - wanted - for him to prove her estimation of him right. She wanted him to remain the cruel, vile, barbaric man she had meet upon the street, covered in blood, all those moons ago. The man who had robbed her of her husband, her home, her people. She wanted him be the very epitome of creature that had waged war across Rome. However, the man she had meet at market continued to take residence in the confines of her heart and she could not rid herself of the kindness she had seen in his eyes that day. It had been marred by the sight of him covered in the blood of her people, but a flicker of connection remained, refusing to be extinguished. Her efforts toward severing it had not proven fruitful. It remained hard for her to reconcile the image of Spartacus standing before her, grain flowing from his fingers. At first she had had only spoken to him as aid toward business for Ennius, but she had been ensnared by the spark in his eyes. A spark that now turned to indifference. The more time she spent in his overwhelming presence, the more she understood the devotion he inspired in his followers. That did not mean she would be swayed to follow him as others, but that she merely appreciated the man's ability to draw people in.

As he had drawn her in when he held a sword to her heart, but had not executed. He had defined his own brothers so he would not become Roman. Laeta's mind once again fixated itself upon the eyes of her captor. Usually devoid of emotion, she was always surprised to see the occasional glimpse of the inferno raging within. An inferno that could consume all in its path, awaiting the moment that he could unleash it upon battle field. He was a wild animal, barely tamed by moral principles. It made her feel equal parts disloyal to her late husband and ill of thought, but sometimes at the darkest part of night, the thought of his heated gaze upon her created an equal inferno within her. She had been married to Ennuis at the tender age of twelve and known no other man's touch. Their's had been an easy, convenient marriage. They had loved each other in there own ways and Laeta had wanted for nothing.

Now she found herself faced with Spartacus, who under more happier circumstances, she would have had admitted held...attractive qualities. She would never have been disloyal to her husband in such regard as to openly attest her thoughts, but she would have not have felt as guilty as she did now. She was not supposed to find her tormentor's face appealing. Her heart was not supposed to race with anything other than fear and hate. Her skin was not supposed to heat whenever his eyes alighted on her. He should not stir feelings of quickened breath or, may the God's strike her down for thinking such thoughts, the wetness between her legs. It is but superficial. Any reactions her body had were beyond her control. Her mind was her own and she forced herself to repeat the crimes Spartacus had committed over and over, least she do something idiotic like begin to think more...friendlier thoughts toward him. The Roman's had cast him in the role of serpent and she would do well to keep that in mind. It did not matter that the very countenance of the man in question disproved every ill rumour whispered throughout the land. _Except the one regarding his ability to kill. That one I __**know**__ to be true._


	2. Chapter 2

**I love where they are going with Laeta's character and her future possible relationship with Spartacus and this story was kind of born from that.**

**Thanks to everyone whose read, favourited, followed and reviewed.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

**Spartacus**:

Spartacus was restless and besieged by thoughts of a woman he had no business thinking of. He had hoped that once she had left the city he would have rid himself of any inclinations he had to seek her out or think of her. He had watched her leave his city through the gates, her very posture showing the relief she felt at being free once again; free of her vile captor Spartacus. He could not fault her in such regard of him. He was the man who had taken her husband's life, a man she clearly cared for. It had spurred him to speak gently to her when she'd stood over the Aedile, an act that was uncommon of him. He could understand her hatred of him, but not his own reaction to it. Reactions that continued to worsen as he came to know her, finding her similar to himself in the way she choose to protect her people. He had stood impressed by her quite dignity in the face of tragedy; even more so by the words she spoke to him when summoned to her former home.

"I will not beg for my life."

Laeta held the ability to stir up long forgotten compassion he thought dead. Compassion for his people he had in abundance, for the Roman's it had not existed since Sura's death. The sight of the dead Roman girl and her mother, briefly meet before taking of city, had filled him with deep disgust. Their unnecessary passing and Laeta loss served to open up the locked cage that harboured his guilt over the certainty of casualties. It was the inevitable result of war; the only result that was known in advance.

Spartacus might be known as the Bringer of Rain, but he was still a man. A heart still beat beneath his chest, as shrivelled as it might be. He wished for change, for better days. to achieve this he knew he must be the precursor. It was the reason behind his order to spare the surviving Roman's. He was not the monster the Roman's painted him to be. He killed because he believed it just. He did not kill to further his name and so unnecessary deaths did not sit well with him.

That lead him back to thoughts of Laeta and the contempt he would see shining from her when she laid eyes upon him. She made the guilt festering within him, that he'd been successfully handling, to escape it confines. It was why she was so easily able to crawl beneath his skin in such a fashion as to rise the tide of his emotions. He was proud of the control he exerted over his reactions to the daily struggles he and his people faced. For Laeta to incite his more primal instincts to such a frenzy angered him. No other woman had raised him to such feelings since Sura's passing. Mira had been a comfort through the dark times they'd face and he had hoped to come to love her, but he could not find it in him. It was not love he felt for Laeta, he was not sure he was capable of such emotion. But something akin to lust. Lust he denied, for she stood Roman. Yet, his body would not seem to adhere to the his thoughts on the matter. My physical response to her presence sets teeth on edge.

Spartacus rose from his bed and strode to the open window. He could not remember the last night where his sleep was uninterrupted, or the last time he'd slept more than two or three hours. He thoughts took him back to Sura's prophecy; if you go to war you are destined for great and unfortunate things. The unfortunate had come to pass and continued to do so. As to the great things she spoke of...

Spartacus shook his head, thoughts of his wife only lead him back to the pit of dismay that he had managed to claw his way from. He stood now, balanced at the lips of darkness, eager to see him swallowed whole. The only reason he had not followed his beloved wife to the after life to begin with was the thirst he held for revenge. If he were to die without having avenged the wrongs that had been forced upon both of them, his spirit would forever regret. Once his heart, his soul, his hands had tasted the blood of the creatures that had ripped Sura from him, he had started something he, as a man of honour, had to see through.

To the bitter end.

"You are not the man one expects."

Spartacus slammed his fist into the wall. Can I not be rid of that Roman woman's taint? She clouds my mind as if she is still within reach. She had expected a monster, made from piss and shit. He had been the tale used to strike fear in the Roman hearts, a feat that required many deaths. He had proven it true, subjecting to the loss of her husband as he had lost his wide, Laeta only serves reminder of what I've become. What I have been forced to become. In her eyes I will always be the monster that robbed her of her husband. While he truly believed himself on a righteous path, it was with heavy heart that he sent his brothers to war. Their deaths stained his hands. Unlike that of Roman blood, the stains of his following comrades remained, no matter how he scrubbed. More was to follow, as Laeta was feeding Crassus false information meant to aid Spartacus and his men toward victory. He should feel elation as his labour bore fruit, but he could not bring himself to such celebration.

If it is easy for me to kill Romans, then why did my hand stay with my sword fell upon Laeta? She had betrayed the kindness he had shown her. His earlier interactions with her had been born out of guilt, but she proved useful in knowledge of Roman information. He had left her free reign of the city and she had managed to make a small group of Roman,s disappear. It was an admirable accomplishment if one were so inclined to look upon it as such. Would I have not that very thing? Was it not a contradiction for him to punish her for what he would be willing to do to fight back. He had seen the spark in her eyes when he had forced her to lead aid for him, in speaking to her husband. She would do anything to protect her people. He should not have been surprised that she would defy him, nor was he truly astonished that she did so. She had fought back in the only way she could. As a women of high breeding she would never have picked up a sword. Her weapons were her words, her deeds and she yielded them well. Further proved by the fact that Spartacus could not remove her from his thoughts.

She was a plague upon his control.


End file.
